Let Me Feel
by Tiggy the Hopeless Romantic
Summary: He'd never expected to see her cry. She was passionate, she was fiery, she was opinionated- but she kept matters of the heart in, very rarely sharing with even herself. At first he was merely baffled... Fiyeraba, bookverse.


He'd never expected to see her cry. She was passionate, she was fiery, she was opinionated- but she kept matters of the heart in, very rarely sharing with even herself. At first he was merely baffled at seeing this strong, ethereal creature breaking down in front of him. Then he felt a strong sense of sadness- seeing this woman in so much pain that she couldn't hold it in anymore, finally. It was slightly horrifying, but then he'd enveloped her in his arms because he had no other way to give her comfort, something she needed desperately.

She went tense at first, stiffening, terrified at her own outburst and his reaction. Then, as she realized that it had become too much to take, she also realized he had offered to help shoulder the burden, at least for the moment, whispering her name, trying to soothe her as she cried. Her arms wrapped tight around him, as if she were clinging to him for dear life (she felt like she was) and he could feel her press her face into his shoulder, feel the wetness of her tears soaking his shirt, vaguely worried she would burn herself with the tears, but more concerned about her mental state.

He wasn't sure which one of them initiated it- him in a need to comfort her, her in a need to feel something, anything that wasn't hate from another human being- but then they were kissing. She pulled back, eyes wide and apologetic and shocked. "I'm sorry, I-"

"Don't," he cut her off, realizing he needed her too, needed to feel something that wasn't obligation or tradition, but something for himself. He kissed her again, deeper, feeling her mouth slip open, granting him access. He held her close to him, her body flush against his, keeping his arms tight around her. One hand slid up to cradle the back of her head, his hand tangling in her dark hair. He felt her move against him, realizing how badly he wanted her, though he didn't know quite why. Perhaps _that_ was why. She was the unknown. He had the sense to pull back, gently asking, "I don't want to take advantage-"

"You aren't," she said, and he found himself unbuttoning her dress, helping her slip out of it. She undid his shirt, kissing the newly exposed skin. He could feel the warmth of her mouth against the blue diamonds, and shivered, not wanting her to stop, but needing to touch her as well. He gently caught her chin, tilting her head up and she straightened back up. "I want this, I want..." she trailed off, awkward and he could see her cheeks flush.

He rescued her from the embarrassment, whispering, "I want it too," and eased her back to her bed, kissing her. He pushed her hair off of her shoulder, pushing the sleeve of her shift down, exposing her shoulder, pressing a light kiss against the skin. He ran his hand over her leg, lifting up the skirt of her shift, scooting it up past her knee, to her thigh. He caressed her skin, but she shifted away when he got too close to her upper thigh, uncomfortable. He looked up in surprise and she seemed slightly disturbed. "What's the matter?"

"I... could you not touch me with your hands... there, I mean.. I-"

He frowned but respected her wish. "That's fine," he said, watching as she got out of bed, slightly discouraged for the moment. Then he saw the half smile, as coy as she was capable of, and she turned off the lights, blowing out the candle next to the bed, leaving only the dim moonlight for him to see by. She pulled the slip off, and he blinked trying to get his eyes to adjust enough to really see her, but she hugged the shadows, climbing into the bed. She took his hand, leading him to her.

For a second he considered that she did not seem new at this. He'd assumed she was a virgin, but now he wasn't so sure- and the thoughts vanished from his head once she had guided him on top of her, was kissing him. He had the thought that he shouldn't be doing this, that he was married, was a father, he shouldn't be doing this.

But then he was inside her, feeling the warmth of her body and he stopped thinking about what he was supposed to do, what people would think. He pushed aside his thoughts about the future or anyone's expectations, just focused on making love to her. He briefly wondered if he loved her, or if it even mattered because in the moment he did, and in that moment she needed him and he gave himself to her as much as he could. In the moment, he knew that he was the only thing she was thinking of, the only one in her world, a nearly overwhelming thought. But lovely, too, to feel her slender legs wrapping around him, to see her strong facade fade away until she was truly vulnerable, truly needing another person. He'd never been more thrilled than when he heard her voice, low and rough with arousal, whimpering his name.

Later, he rolled over, not wanting to crush her beneath him- she seemed smaller to him now, more delicate, though he guessed that was to be expected. She froze awkwardly for a moment, not sure what to do.

So he opened his arms to her, coaxed her into them, glad to feel her relax, trusting him.

He'd never expected to see her cry, and he'd never expected to be the one to be able to provide comfort to her. But he was glad for both things.


End file.
